Deception
by Star1086
Summary: "He should have noticed the small differences: the way she carried herself, the subtle changes in her demeanor; her patience with Walter. He should have noticed them, but he didn't." Olivia's home, but Peter must bring her back.
1. Prologue

A/N:

I started this on Fringe's mini hiatus, because I just couldn't wait the two weeks for Entranda. Spoilers through Do Shapeshifts Dream of Electric Sheep?, but AU after there. All spelling/grammer mistakes are my own. No in_fringe_ment intended (ha!), so please don't sue. I love reviews, though they're not required. They're just a nice little perk.

-S

* * *

He should have noticed the small differences: the way she carried herself, the subtle changes in her demeanor; her patience with Walter. He should have noticed them, but he didn't. How could he? They were the same person, at least variations of the same person. But rationalization didn't stop the gnawing guilt he felt whenever he thought about the passing months where he grew closer to Olivia Dunham from the alternate reality, (or rather his own reality) than he ever did with the Olivia Dunham that had traveled universes to save him in so many more ways than one. Now, realizing the treachery, he wasn't sure how to bridge the gap between the deception, lies and deceit.

"Yes," Peter Bishop thought sardonically, as he watched Astrid and Walter through the glass window looking intothe hospital room where Olivia Dunham, _his _Olivia Dunham, fought against the restraints holding her hands to the bed, her copper hair in wild tendrils over her shoulders,

"Welcome to hell."

Taking two long steps to the next room beside Olivia's, he peered grimly into the hospital room that contained the blonde hair of the Olivia Dunham that he had come to know in intimate detail. He knew she saw him, staring back at him, narrowed eyes and bowed head, smirking. She never looked so terrifying, Peter thought, arms bound to her bed, but she wasn't fighting against them. It was like she was waiting for something, like she alone had the hidden knowledge that could save them all. Her cold eyes found his, and Peter could feel his face burn under her gaze. Shaking his head against her scrutiny he turned on his heels and walked briskly back into the mess that was his existence.


	2. Chapter 1

The walk was endless and painfully short all at the same time. Peter could feel his heart beating madly inside his chest as through the hallway to Olivia's door, clutching his phone in his pocket and picking at the numbers on the dial pad. The heavy clunk of his boots were reverberating against the otherwise silent corridor, matching perfectly in tune with the pounding inside his skull.

_Just finished briefing Broyles. Can you come over? We need to talk_.

The text message bothered him more than he'd like to admit. The feelings of unease returned whenever he sensed any lapse of control in his surroundings and thus were always grossly outweighed by the overwhelming urge to find higher ground; to escape and keep the feeling of self-preservation through distancing himself from anything uncomfortable. He'd never been stationary with the same people for this long of a time, and the thought of losing his little family unit was a little unnerving to him.

Since Olivia's return with him from the other side there were differences. Maybe not noticeable to someone who didn't know her well (and few did), but Peter picked up on them almost instantly. Blaming it on some profound metaphysical awakening from seeing her other self, she softened around the edges; loosening up the cold, business-like suit that she was so accustomed to wearing and replacing it with a devilish grin whenever she saw him. The haunted look her eye's often carried seemed to all but disappear and she now walked like a weight had lifted from her shoulders. Despite already being a prideful, slightly arrogant man, he liked to think this phenomenon had something to do with him.

He stared at her door, hesitating. 'Don't be such a coward,' he chided; pulling himself to his full height and knocked.

She answered almost immediately.

This was not a good sign, Peter thought as he took in the features with a detached amusement, waiting. Olivia stood, poker-faced, jaw flexing. Peter thought he saw a flash of something behind her eyes, but no sooner did he notice it, it was gone.

"Um, I lied to you." Olivia stated matter-of-factly.

Peter's brow furrowed, his mind whirling. What could she possible have lied about? Before he had a change to unravel the mystery, her hands found purchase in his jacket and she was pulling him across the threshold into her apartment.

"I don't want to talk." A wicked smile crossed her features and Peter felt the drop in his stomach as she pulled him against her and met her lips met his. He almost came unglued when she gripped him closer to rake her teeth across his lower lip, a husky giggle escaping her. This was not the Olivia Dunham he knew. The Olivia he knew would not be tracing her nails down his back as she assaulted his mouth with a ferocity that made even lucid thoughts impossible. Noticing in his peripheral that the door stood open, he swept a kick backward and heard the satisfying clang of it closing shut.

"Peter," she breathed, smirking as he groaned in response- the only thing coherent he could muster. His head was swirling in everything Olivia Dunham and the tantalizing things she was doing with her hands around his belt buckle. She took a step backward, towing him with her as she lured him toward her bedroom.

His brain clicked back on as he finally caught up with her.

"Wait," he mumbled against her lips, feeling his already weakened restraint deteriorate as she wrapped her arms around his neck as she pulled him back toward her. "Olivia, wait." He tried again. Peter's head was aggravatingly slow at the rapid development, but a nagging voice at the back of his mind screamed clear as day: _too fast!_

"Olivia," He started as she traced the curve of his jaw with her mouth, "it hasn't been much more than a month since we've gotten back from the alternate universe… from my universe," he corrected, but she muted his next sentence with a sweeping motion of her tongue against his.

They hadn't spoken much of her confession the night they came for him. _She travelled to another dimension for Christ's sak_e to admit to him that she wanted him, something he could imagine would be near impossible for her to confide. But that little, analytical part of him was too clever not to consider the motivation of her actions; worried that if it was discussed she would reveal that she was instructed to say anything to return him and save their world from being destroyed. This uncertain doubt, as unlikely as it may be, kept him from pursuing this new relationship too aggressively, allowing her to take the lead and keeping a slow and steady pace.

Until now, there was very little physical interaction outside of accidently pumps or purposeful shoves. He thought back to the dance she coerced him into, twirling softly to Patsy Cline; her arms over her shoulder and his hands lying ostentatiously on her holster. This was a dramatic shift in the physical department that they've only just began to explore.

He pulled away from their kiss with the greatest of effort and mumbled something incoherent that could have been "wait," although he wasn't sure.

"Wait? For what?" Olivia's mouth pulled into a sly smile, her cheeks burning a brilliant rose color. She was looking up at him from under her lashes, toying suggestively with the button on her starched dress shirt.

Peter could feel heat on his face as he took her in. Completely uninhibited and confident, words were difficult.

"Um, this is… a little fast." Feeling like an asshole even as he said it. He could feel the flush as the heat grew on his face, and watched as she raised a suggestive eyebrow in mock ridicule.

"You're worried about… moving too quickly?" Her voice on the bridge of laughter now.

Yup, definitely an asshole. He smirked in spite of himself as he struggled for words. Not something he commonly had issue with.

"This… is just a big uh, you know, and if this thing with us doesn't work out-"He blurted, feeling a new sure of empathy toward Walter and his lack of articulation. He shook his head and gritted his teeth in frustration. This was not what he had anticipated in coming here. He felt grossly underprepared.

Olivia closed the distance between them and gripped his jacket and pulled his face down to place a kiss on his jaw. "Peter," she placed another on his throat, causing him to grip her waist in a jolt of electricity.

"Trust me." She whispered against his neck.

All carefully guarded boundaries he placed were shattered; his resolve completely coming unhinged as he leaned down to kiss her with renewed fervor, taking in every bit of her she would give. Something about those two little words, flicked a switch in him he didn't know he had.

This time when Olivia pulled Peter back toward her bedroom he followed without hesitation, pulling out the band from her bun and tangling his hands in her blonde hair.


	3. Chapter 2

The light at Massive Dynamic was bright and intrusive; pouring through every physical space with its overbearing presence. It felt like he was the ant under a very malicious kid's magnifying glass. The light was a nuance, but not enough of one for him to stay away.

The chair Peter was sitting in was cold and uncomfortable. He shifted his hips again in a failed hope that he would be able to find a more comfortable position. He couldn't, so he gave up and settled into a resentful pose and watched his father.

"How are you feeling today, Olivia?" Walter Bishop asked apprehensively as he flashed a light into the pupils of Olivia's eyes, gauging the response with a mixture between anxiety and excitement. He was perched on a little piece of Olivia's hospital bed next to a set of beeping monitors and a steel table full of metal instruments and syringes that Walter had selected for his "testing."

Olivia's face was carved in stone, her eyes lifting upward at Walter and squinting in disgust from under her copper tresses. Her lips moved from their hard line into a forced lopsided grin.

"Why don't you remove these restraints and I'll show you," she said, her voice unmistakably too pleasant and dripping with vile. Peter shifted forward in his chair, resting his arms on his knees.

"Walter-" Peter said warningly as Walter mistook Olivia's sarcasm as he made a move toward the restraints that bound her wrists to the bed. Walter looked over his shoulder to Peter, who shook his head at Walter's unasked question. It was Olivia who responded for him.

"Peter is afraid that if you released me, I might do something unbecoming." She said, the pretense of her former niceties over. She shifted her icy gaze over to Peter, who felt unnerved by her unfamiliar and undisguised loathing. Refusing to shift his gaze away first, he glared back at her- purposely invading her space as she was trying to invade his.

"Not at all, I just know you better than you think I do." He retorted, smirking at the snarl that crossed her lips. He knew she was constantly vying to get out of this room, to get back somehow to the universe that wasn't truly hers. Back to the place that she was brainwashed into believing she belonged.

Engaged by the events unfolding in front of him, Walter stared back and forth between Peter and Olivia, transfixed by the exchange; his head whipping between the two with the animation and excitement as watching a tennis match on TV. Peter would have laughed out loud if this were any other situation. Walter was still sitting on a little piece of Olivia's hospital bed, his mind wandering. After a few tense moments, Olivia shifted her gaze away from Peter and back to Walter.

"When am I getting out of here?" She demanded; all pretenses over. Her question pulled Walter from whatever line of thought he was meandering down and he shifted back over to look at her. She looked drawn and hallowed; her skin pale and bleached out from the unforgiving light. Back on the right mode of thought, Walter reached over and picked up the file that sat on the end of Olivia's bed. Flicking it open and perusing through the contents.

"Well that depends, Agent Dunham, entirely on when you are better." Walter responded with an uncomfortable smile, shifting through the papers as if the key to the mystery was hidden within them.

Peter eased back into the chair, running his hand over the roughness of his chin. He had been stationary at the hospital ever since Olivia's return a five days ago, eating, sleeping and sitting in the same God damned chair and watching over Olivia with such ferocity that Walter worried that she may disappear again if he left her side. He watched Olivia sink her head back on the pillow, defeated.

"You know they'll come looking for me." She snarled, eyes flickering between the two Bishops. Peter could tell she was bluffing; she could never pull an adequate poker face with her. Peter stood, his knees cracking in protest and padded over to the side of her bed, hands crammed in his pockets.

"If they do come," Peter allowed, taking his hands out and leaning over her bed frame, "they'll come looking for _her._ Not you." He caught her gaze and held it, willing her to recognize him and to snap out of it.

"They'll come looking for you, too." She whispered in a breath so low Peter wasn't sure if Walter could hear it. Peter smirked, never losing her eyes and tilting his head at her, her face mere inches from his. Peter heard the bedsprings squeak and he knew that Walter had exited the little place on the bed that he was sitting, but he didn't bother to look where he went.

"'Livia…" he started, hoping for some twinge of recognition. Her eyes crinkled for just the briefest of moments, as she heard him say her name, but she recovered quickly.

"I am Agent Dunham to you, and I am part of the Department of Defense branch called 'Fringe', investigating- "she started. Peter cut her off, hearing this same line everyday for the past five days.

"—weird and unexplainable events—yeah, I've got it." Peter back away from her bed and stretched his back, turning away from her.

"And I report to the Secretary—your father, Dr. Walter Bishop, and I was sent here to retrieve you—"

She turned to shoot a filthy look at Walter, who was cowarding in the nearby corner, making adjustments to the machinery that she was hooked up to. If he was overhearing their conversation, he wasn't letting it on.

Walter had been working furiously over the last few days, trying to figure out how the other Walter Bishop had brainwashed her, for this was much more than a simple case of Stockholm syndrome. Olivia had very specific details of the other Olivia Dunham's life that Walter couldn't place how they were implanted. Even an infinite amount of technology and resources available to him through Massive Dynamic couldn't assist him in bringing back their Agent Dunham and thus ease the horrible guilt her absences brought.

Walter stole a glance over to Peter's back as he stared out the window, the muscles in his back hard and rigid. Walter's heart broke a little, seeing Peter's frustration and his own guilt in not noticing the infiltration earlier. No one noticed that Olivia had been trapped and replaced for months and no one knew. The pain of realizing his oversight brought Walter to a near full-blown meltdown when Peter stumbled into their little house; Olivia badly injured and half-dead in his arms from the transfer made Walter feel less like a scientist and more like a bereaved father. Seeing Olivia's vacant eyes reminded him so much of Peter's death…

"Walter-"Peter's voice interrupted his haunted reverie. Walter looked up from the wires he held absent-mindedly in his hands. The wires were shaking. He released them like they were electrified.

"What's that, Peter?" Walter asked, focusing back to the present time- Peter was facing him now, hands crammed back into his pockets.

"I'm going to get something to eat. You want anything?"

"Redvines," came Walter's instant reply, the memory temporarily forgotten,

"and a blue Slurpee." He added. Peter studied his face for a second and dipped his head and turned to the door. In fact Peter wasn't hungry, he hadn't been since Olivia came crashing back into this existence and he knew he'd been had. The truth is he wanted to get the hell out of the room that was a constant reminder of how much of a failure he was. He was almost to the door when Walter soft voice floated over his shoulder.

"We'll bring her back, son." Walter's voice almost sounded like little plea. Peter's eyes closed, willing himself to believe his father's words that they could save her.

"She's never coming back, Peter." Came Olivia's heckling; a sing-song voice that wrenched a knife in his gut whenever she used it. Without looking back into the room, he crossed the threshold out of the hospital room, wondering if he'll ever see his Olivia again.


	4. Chapter 3

The drink burned Peter's throat and left a pleasant sensation. Whiskey was always Peter's drink of choice whenever he was mulling something over. The alcohol always seemed to help put things into perspective when his analytical mind refused to see something so obviously apparent. He liked the dull buzz of his brain slowing down and making everything less sensitive, more bearable.

He wasn't sure why he'd have the nagging sensation over the last few weeks that something was amiss. Like some missing piece of a puzzle that muddled the picture he desperately wanted to see. Rapping his knuckles on the bar top to indicate he was ready for another, and garnering the attention of the bartender. The bartender crooked an eyebrow at him, but complied, filling his empty glass again. Tipping his glass in thanks, he tossed his head back and swallowed the whisky in a single gulp.

"Drinking alone?" the bartender asked, leaning over the bar to where Peter sat. Peter took her in: young, dark-haired, pretty. She was eyeing him in a way he was familiar with. A few years ago he would have turned on the charm be back at her place in twenty minutes flat. He wasn't used to being attached, but it felt a lot better than a string of one night stands. He nudged the empty glass back toward her, feeling the alcohol swim deliciously in his head.

She obliged yet again, keeping the bottle on the bar and toying with its neck. She opened her mouth to say something else, but she stopped short when Peter felt a warm hand slide across his back. He reacted involuntarily, a slight shiver tickling his shoulders and making him shudder. Turning back he smiled; Olivia was eyeing the bartender with a bemused look on her face.

"Hey," she said to Peter and plopped into the open barstool next to him. She sniffed Peter's glass in horror. The bartender shot her a nasty glare before asking, "What can I get you, sweetheart?" Peter glanced sideways at Olivia, remember the first time he called her that to irritate her. He was expecting her to react, but if it bothered her, she didn't show it. Olivia scooted Peter's glass back toward him and waved her off with a "nothing for me, thanks." The bartender's eyes slid back toward Peter, who was watching this with a drunken amusement that made him look very much like his father's son. Hiding the bottle beneath the bar top, she shot a brilliant smile toward Peter again.

"Well, let me know when you're ready for another." She said and turned toward some customers who just saddled up down the bar. Olivia watched her go with a crinkled nose. Leaning back to Peter, she whispered, "I can't leave you anywhere." She said with a smirk, taking her blonde hair out of its tight bun and shaking it loose. Peter caught the scent of lavender and let the smell linger, feeling the shiver climb up his spine and then _Christ_ was he turned on.

"Not drinking anything?" He asked, sipping at his own whisky and attempting to not delve too much into the thoughts of the previous few nights. She made a face and made a noise like "Ugh," pushing Peter's glass further away. "I can't stand the smell, let alone the taste."

She slid her hand up Peter's arm and let it rest on his shoulder, rubbing her thumb against his shirt. Peter didn't shiver this time; he was too deep in thought to notice the caress. Something was off.

"Whisky? You're telling me you don't like whisky now?" He asked, brows pushing together. "Since when?" He studied Olivia's face as her eyes crinkled just a bit around the edges.

"Yeah, it must be the morning sickness." She said, eyes serious; her mouth a subtle smile. The blood drained from Peter's face as he stared, wide-eyed at her, saying nothing.

Olivia let it linger for just a second longer before her laugh tinkled the air. Patting Peter's back affectionately. "I'm joking," she laughed as Peter let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Peter chuckled despite himself, dropping his face down into his glass.

"I had you," she continued to laugh, pointing a finger in his direction, "I so had you." Peter grinned, and lifted his glass to her, "Mazel tav," he deadpanned and drained the glass, still feeling shaky from her joke. "And you certainly did not have me, Ms. Dunham." He said. She was still chuckling under her hand.

"Yes I did, I had you," she laughed. Peter squished up his face in indignation. Still holding his glass he pointed a finger in her direction. "You," he slurred, but only so slightly, "have a horrible poker face. You can't bluff a bluffer." She rolled her eyes in response, already standing and taking out her wallet and flipping some bills on the bar.

"C'mon," she said, pulling him to his feet, "let's go home." And she began pulling him toward the door. Peter followed, feeling his brain start to whirl again as he took in a weird feeling of something being out of place, the missing piece of the puzzle that still marred the picture that he couldn't yet see.


	5. Chapter 4

Peter hated being trapped on the twelfth floor of Massive Dynamic. Separated by mere concrete walls in two identical rooms laid two identical Olivia Dunham's; each strapped to their beds and undergoing Walter's testing.

Peter had avoided the other Olivia's room since his had returned. Out of guilt or fear—he wasn't sure, but being around her reminded him so much of how completely a fool he was. He wasn't one to admit when he'd been had, but looking at the woman he had spent so much time with in an effort to get him strapped to a machine that would undoubtedly end both his life and the world he had become so accustomed to, frankly unnerved him a twinge. But there were questions he had to have answers for and time was a precious commodity.

Punching in the sequence of numbers to enter the room, Peter felt his palms clam up and his heart hammer traitorously in his chest as the door's lock unclamped. She looked the same as ever—light hair falling around her shoulders, a small mischievous grin creeping onto her face.

"Hello Peter," Her eyes followed, but she didn't budge from her slouched position on her bed. "I'd get up to greet you, but—"

"Cut the crap," Peter said, his voice grating. Olivia's jaw set instantly, her eyes narrowing. Peter swung a nearby chair over to the bed and leaned forward. "I need answers, and I need you to give them to me."

Olivia's grin returned, laying her head back onto the pillow. "And what answers would that be?" She asked. Peter's heart was still hammering in his chest, but he refused to lose his temper. Too much was riding on what information she could have on how to get Olivia back.

"What happened to her over there?" He started, Olivia cut him off.

"Why don't you ask her that?" She snapped. Reading Peter's face, she chuckled. "Oh, because you can't. That's why you're in here. You think I can give you answers." She shook her head back and studied Peter's face. "I don't know what happened to her over there. I don't have the answers you're looking for. And even if I did know, how would you know I was even telling the truth?" Peter was fuming—he knew she was right. He expected no less from Olivia Dunham. But he had to feel like he was doing something, anything to make headway.

Studying her intently for a moment longer, he clenched his jaw and rose to leave. He got two steps before he heard her voice.

"Peter—"she started. He turned to face her. Her face had changed; he could detect a hint of apprehension. "Are you going to kill me?" She asked.

"No," he said, his back rigid. "As soon as we get Olivia back, I'll send you back where you belong."

The hiss of his voice made the statement seem much more like a threat than a promise. He turned and slammed the door shut behind him.

Standing in the hallway Peter held his hands up, palms facing him—they were shaking. Curling them into fists, he stuffed them into the pockets of his leather jacket. He turned and stared into Olivia's room feeling the tremors race through him. Things were starting to feel dark and the feeling to escape slowly crept into his veins. Even Bagdad felt like a welcomed distraction now.

He didn't hear Walter scuttle up behind him, his presence making his jump a little.

"Son, I've got it!" Walter's excitement was palpable, his arms outstretched dramatically. Peter's mind switched gears instantly.

"What?" He said, trying to keep up with Walter's logic. His voice wavered just for an instant. Walter spun past him toward Olivia's room, taking Peter's arm with him as he went. They both stood outside of Olivia's room, her red hair glinting in the light.

"It's so rudimentary in concept; but should be highly effective." Walter waited for a response from Peter, but none came. Peter cocked his head, waiting for him to continue.

"Electroconvulsive therapy." Walter concluded excitedly and waited in anticipation for Peter's response. Again, none came but Peter's confused and slightly irritated face.

"Electroshock therapy? You want to electrocute Olivia?" Peter chortled, pushing past Walter down the hallway.

"That is precisely what I intend to do," Walter said in an uncharacteristically authoritative voice. Peter stopped and Walter quickly reverted back to his jittery excitement. "You see, it's exactly the answer—whatever they did to her other there to implant the other Olivia's memories and personality traits into our Agent Dunham can be reversed due to the side effects of electroconvulsive shock."

Peter spun, searching his father's face. "This is insane, Walter— electroshock is used to treat severe depression, not for…" he struggled to find an adequate description. _Memory implantation? Mind control? _It all sounded crazy.

"It's been widely practiced for over two decades in the United Stated alone. This practice 'resets' the brain as it were; if we can use this method on Agent Dunham, it may result in all the implanted memories to reset as well." Peter let himself feel a twinge of hope; his analytic brain searching for a loophole in Walter's theory.

"It's barbaric Walter, it could greatly diminish her cognitive development, it could kill her—"he started.

"When Olivia travelled back over here, she suffered extreme episode of seizure-like trauma," Peter's gut wrenched at the memory: Olivia's frightened expression and broken body as she crawled from the sensory deprivation tank in the lab. But he didn't allow himself to linger on that thought for long.

"If my hypothesis proves correct, this could just be the thing that helps bring her back." Peter crossed his arms, staring into her room. Olivia was wide awake, staring back through the glass. Staring through him.

"How long do we have?" He mumbled, his voice low. Peter stared through the glass next to him, clasping his shoulder firmly. He didn't want to say it out loud. At any time they would lose the other Olivia to the other side, and any information she had.

"It could be anytime now." Walter replied.

Peter ground his teeth and searched for another alternative. None came to mind. Sighing heavily he dropped his head away from Olivia's gaze.

"Do it."


	6. Chapter 5

Peter couldn't sleep that night.

There was too much swirling in his mind, too many things that could potentially go wrong tomorrow, and this had been plaguing him for days since Walter decided that the only way to retrieve Olivia back was to shock her in some pop psychology method of rebooting her. Turning over, he punched the pillow into a more comfortable position and stared at the clock on his nightstand. Blinking like a tell-tale heart, it read 2:15. Then 2:30. When it hit 2:45, he turned away in disgust and stared at the ceiling, trying to make out the cracks in the darkness and finding patterns, a comforting tick from his childhood. More images of Olivia with electrodes attached to her head screaming made his stomach churn and he grabbed his spare pillow to shove it over his face, muffling all noise and thoughts. The darkness was a welcomed comfort, but he caught a faint scent of Olivia's perfume lingering in the fibers, the delicate scent of lilac, and soon as the sensation clicked with recent memories, he flung it across the room like it was on fire.

Groggily, he wondered if they shared the same taste in perfume; he'd never noticed what Olivia had worn before. They were so similar but chasms apart, and he wondered if Olivia hadn't crawled out of the tank if he would have ever figured it out. And as soon as his mind contemplated that idea, his memory shot him back to Walter's lab weeks earlier. He had been working on the device all night, piecing it together with great difficulty and frustration. He hadn't realized he'd been there until day hit.

"Don't work too hard or you might turn into Walter."

Astrid's voice startled him; he hadn't realized she got to the lab that early in the morning. Looking up with bleary eyes he stretched—feeling the muscles his back burn as he moved. Astrid was shaking off her jacket and eyeing him with concern.

"Where you here all night?" She asked as she took in what he was doing. He mouth rounded as she made a little "oh." She quickly recovered and continued on her normal morning routine around the lab.

"Walter's not going to be happy. . ." she added nonchalantly as she rearranged some glass beakers.

Peter scratched his chin, aggravated. "Well, what Walter doesn't know won't kill him," he grinned, trying to get on Astrid's good side so she wouldn't rat him out to his overly paranoid father.

She opened her mouth to say something else when it happened. The whole lab shook with a magnitude so fierce Peter bit down hard on his tongue. The glass beakers that Astrid had moved earlier were rattling on the counter and crashing to the ground as the floor trembled under the weight of the quaking.

Peter gripped the ends of the table he was at, alarmed that he may have accidently triggered it the machine he was working on. He could hear Gene mooing in the corner as instruments in Walter's lab danced and shivered like drops of water on a hot pan. Peter braced himself against whatever the machine was about to do. The quake lasted a moment longer but the machine sat there, unthreatening as tin.

As the shaking subsided, Peter felt a rather unpleasant popping sensation in his ears before everything was as it was.

"Whoa, was that an earthquake?" Astrid asked, teetering through the wreckage of glass and fallen debris over to where Peter was. Peter sat unmoved from his location, staring intently down at his arm. The sleeves had been hastily rolled up on his t-shirt at some time during the night and he was looking, rather perplexed, at the hair on his arm lifting up from their roots like they were electrically charged. Shifting his gaze from his arm to Astrid, Peter met her mystified expression with his own.

"I don't think that was an earthquake, Astrid."

That's when he heard it—the heavy arm from Walter's sensory deprivation tank swing open, clanging against the weight of the metal frame. He was instantly up, stepping between Astrid and the tank, adrenaline and fear extinguishing any and all thought he was entertaining before. Scanning the lab for some sort of weapon of defense, he cursed himself for never getting a firearm _he worked for the FBI for Christsakes _and he knew Astrid didn't carry one, and he felt rather helpless against whatever it was crawling out of the tank at that moment.

"Astrid, call Olivia-" Peter ordered in hushed tones, taking cautious steps toward the back of the tank, keeping Astrid at arm's length and wishing badly that Olivia and her gun were in the lab with them. He heard Astrid backtrack and pull out her cell phone from her purse, dialing.

Peter mustered up his most authoritative voice and called out, "come out of there," he demanded. He could hear Astrid talking to Olivia in rapid succession, but the blood pounding in his ears prevented him from hearing what. He swung around cautiously, expecting the worst.

"Peter?" He froze. The voice was instantly recognizable, and his brow furrowed—it wasn't Astrid's voice, and he knew the voice he heard coming from the tank was who she was supposed to be talking to on the phone. His eyes found her.

Olivia, red-haired and soaking wet, was attempting to pull herself out of the confines of the tank, with fumbling arms and shaky legs. Peter remained rooted to the spot, feeling his mouth go dry.

"Peter," she repeated, her lips cracked and bloody, and Peter could see the bruises on her arms and neck, some dark purple—others lighter colors of green and yellows, telling him they'd been there for some time.

"Astrid, hang up the phone." He managed, and he took notice that Astrid had moved around the side to meet him, obviously recognizing the voice herself, though he wouldn't release Olivia from his gaze.

She hoisted herself into an awkward upright position; half standing—half crouching as her face broke into a forced smile.

"Olivia, dear god," he heard Astrid stammer, but he couldn't move, there were too many things whirling in his mind, trying to piece together what he saw. He didn't make a plausible hypothesis until her eyes met his with gripping intensity and he knew which Olivia stood before him.

"I made it home," she whispered, the effort strenuous for her. Peter took a step toward her and felt his stomach drop when her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed, tumbling out of the tank and crashing into Peter as he raced to catch her. He sagged under her dead weight as she dropped, jerking in his clutch. He hoisted her under the arms to pull out of the tank onto the lab floor, pulling her head to the side so she could breathe as she shook violently. He swore loudly, suddenly terrified.

"Olivia," he called, trying to revive her, his voice shaking.

"I'm calling 9-1-1," Astrid said, sprinting back to her phone.

"Wait, Astrid—get your car, we're taking her to Walter's." Peter concluded. Whatever happened to her, any hospital wouldn't help. He had to get her home. At this time the only person he was willing to trust was Walter.

"Peter, we don't know what's wrong with her, she could be dyi—"she snapped back, her anxiety plain on her face. Olivia's jerking stopped, she was still. Her stillness was more alarming than her shaking had been. Pulling his head down to her chest, he wedged his ear against her, feeling with immense relief from her heart beating, but not the rise and fall of her chest. She wasn't breathing.

"Get the Goddamned car Astrid," He barked as he pulled Olivia's sallow face back toward him and covered her mouth with his own; blowing hot and desperate air into her lungs, and praying she would take it. He heard the lab door slam open as Astrid ran outside to retrieve the car, but he wouldn't spare a look to make sure. He was still plugging her nose and forcing her to breathe again.

"Come on, 'Livia," he begged, his voice thick as he covered her mouth with his own. He wasn't sure how much time they had before the other Olivia got there, but he calculated about ten minutes if she ran the red lights on 3rd and 5th street.

When he pushed another gush of air into her mouth, this time felt it push back at him, filling his own mouth with air. He felt her jerk awake, coughing and sucking in air. Her eyes swung open and he recognized her, even under the red hair and foreign clothing she wore—he knew. The seriousness of the situation came crashing on him, there's two Olivia's in this universe. One of them didn't belong and she was close to five minutes out. He pushed them aside, focusing on the situation at hand.

"Keep breathing," he soothed, crouching closer, cradling her face in his hands and he continued to murmur softly as she came around. He heard the door open again and heard Astrid call out to him.

"Come on Olivia, we've gotta move," he coaxed, pulling his arms under her and lifting her up, noting how light she felt in his arms as he stood with her and made a run for the door, praying Walter knew what to do.

The memory still haunted him. Not just because of the terrifying way that she had come crashing back into this existence, but because of all the lies and deceit that her return exposed. He took little comfort in the fact that everyone—Astrid, Walter, even Broyles was deceived by the other Olivia, but he took it much more personally. He had spent so much time with her, entertained so many romantic moments—he should have been the one that figured it out. He was a genius; he always prided himself on the fact he was clever enough to figure any sticky situation out, to deduce and make reasonable conclusions. But his genius meant nothing. He was bested by the very person he cared the most for. This haunting revelation kept him up almost every night. And if Olivia did return to him tomorrow, he was secretly frightened of what the implications of his genius might bring upon the both of him.

Peter didn't sleep that night; he watched the sun rise up and break into his bedroom. He knew it was time. He had to get Olivia back regardless of what it cost him.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: I know I've all but abandoned this piece in pursuit of devoting time to other stories (and since Entrada rolled out). I do have some rough chapters to this piece plotted that I've decided to finally post once I'm done doing some quick editing. It's all AU now since Season three is finished, and I haven't decided if I'll put this on permanent hiatus or continue it. I guess we'll see.

-S.

* * *

It's cold and wet when he wakes the next morning, the rain pelting gently against the window to his bedroom. The noise should be soothing, but it only makes his stomach knot more at the heaviness of what he was to face that day. He wonders when he finally gave into the exhaustion of sleep.

He twists to look at the clock, just after 9 in the morning. He fingers the grit in his eye and rolls on his back to stare listlessly at the rainfall. In a few hours time they were going to electrocute Olivia in an attempt to restart her.

It doesn't sound any less crazy now as it did when Walter first suggested it. And it was crazy, he knows—but he still doesn't have any better solutions to bring her back. He had to trust Walter, had to believe this would work. What other choice did they have?

He rises to his feet as he rolls himself out of bed. Everything feels stiff; his knees crack loudly to accentuate his worn body. He feels the dread creep in low to sit smoldering in his abdomen but he pushes it aside. It was going to work.

He's out of his bedroom and padding down the hallway to the bathroom. The floorboards creak under his footsteps and each groan sounds like an accusation.

"Walter?" He calls down the stairs to an empty house. Walter must already be at Massive Dynamic or he never came home. Peter's not sure which. He isn't interested in spending any more time in the musty house than necessary.

He twists the handle to the hot water and hears the pipes whine in protest as the water sprays, filling the small bathroom in its foggy heat. He watches himself in the mirror before he's completely obscured by the steam. He stares back, hunched over the sink, hands astride keeping him upright. His eyes are dark and tired, his unshaven face pebbled in dark spots. He looks like hell.

"Here we go." He tells himself, scrubbing a hand over his tired face. He wants to both get out of the house and to Massive Dynamic to see her, and go back to bed to sleep for a few more house to avoid having to bear witness to strapping her down with electrodes.

"Get a grip." He chides, stripping down and stepping into the shower to let the hot water beat away on his tense muscles.

It's just after noon when he rolls into Massive Dynamic, tense and tired from the short flight from Boston. He feels nauseas as the elevator lurches upward, leading him to the twelfth floor and he sucks down the bad coffee in an attempt to keep alert.

The doors open and he freezes: the doors just opened to Olivia's floor. The _Other _Olivia's floor. Their Olivia was moved up to the next floor yesterday for prepping. _Floor thirteen, how fitting _he thinks sardonically. His back tightens under his coat and he's not sure why he stopped here. He has to catch the side of the closing door before he's out of the elevator, stomping down the hallway to get it over with.

He peaks into the other Olivia's room. She's sitting relaxed on the bed, her arms propped behind her head, justs staring at the ceiling, looking more comfortable than he feels. When she catches him staring, she lets out a smile. "Any luck yet?" She asks through the window. She's off the bed and sauntering to the window, a grin pulling at her mouth. "Let me know how she is, will ya?" She laughs.

He spins on his heel and makes his way to the stairs next to the elevator, throwing the heavy door open and stomping up the steps with so much force the sound reverberates off the concrete. His face feels hot and angry as he makes it to the correct floor. He swings the door shut with a clang.

Down past a few empty rooms he finds Walter shuffling around, preparing an ancient looking machine on a table that Peter recognizes with a twang of apprehension.

"Peter!" Walter exclaims excitedly when he notices his son. He sets down the electrodes on the empty bed and makes his way to Peter with outstretched arms. "Just in time." He smiles in a way that makes Peter uncomfortable.

"She's not a science experiment, Walter." Peter rebukes curtly. The smile fades from Walter's face and Peter instantly regrets his anger. He looks down at his father and notes his clothing.

"Did you sleep, Walter?" He asks in a kinder voice. Walter's already back to the machine, fingering the electrodes and Peter suspect that he's trying to work out nervous energy. The small box isn't larger than a briefcase, it's outside cased in wood with two knobs on the face flanking a meter like a watch. Walter looks drawn, stricken as he checks and double checks the electrodes winding their way out of the box like legs to some sort of bizarre jellyfish.

"Oh yes, Son." He waves Peter off. Peter makes a face at Walter's wrinkled clothing and Peter holds out the extra cup of coffee in silence. Walter looks at his with a brightened expression, taking it and opening the lid to smell the contents.

"Extra squirt of peppermint." Peter answers Walter's unasked question. It's strange how well his can communicate with his father now. He's not sure if he's comfortable with it yet. Walter takes a satisfied pull from the cup and they stand in silence, Peter's eyes never leaving the machine.

"How is she?" He asks without looking at his father.

Walter's mouth turns upward, the coffee too hot to his liking. He almost forgets to swallow before answering, coffee dribbling down his chin.

"She's perfectly fine, son." He soothes, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He sees Peter's eyes are unfocused, staring at the wooden box with a mixture of horror and disgust warring on his face. Walter recognized that face of worry well: a face he inherited from Elizabeth. He places a hand on Peter's shoulder, pulling him from the trance to face him. The line in his forehead darkens and it makes Walter's heart break a little.

"Maybe we should call Rachel." Peter says aloud. It sounds like he's asking permission. Walter lets go of Peter's shoulder, his face hard.

"It's the only way, son." He says in a way that allows no more discussion. A sharp turn from Peter and Walter's looking at his son in defiance, "Do not forget that you are not the only one who wants to see Agent Dunham safely returned." Peter's jaw clenches and he has that dark look of anger flashing in his eye it makes Walter shrink a little. The moment turns sour in the air.

"Peter, when did you get in?" A voice asks behind them, pulling two heads toward the door. Nina walks in, and noticing the tense moment between the two, smiles warmly. "How was your flight?" She asks sweetly.

"Fine." Peter clips, turning away from his father and glaring down at his cold coffee. She nods at Peter before moving her attention to Walter.

"She's ready." She says and Peter's back stiffens again. The coffee sloshes in the cup and he looks down to notice his hand shaking. He hides it from Walter but Nina notices it, taking Walter by the arm and leading him to the open door.

"Walter, why don't you go check on Olivia before we move her? Make sure she's comfortable?" She says brightly, and Walter nods with a small smile. He turns to look toward his son, But Peter's eyes stay trained on his coffee. He looks back to Nina, who smiles encouragingly. Walter slips out and disappears down the hallway.

Nina's heels click on the linoleum as she comes to stand aside Peter, staring down at the box.

"How are you doing?" She asks straightforward. Peter's mouth pulls a little, rolling his tongue around in his mouth.

"Fine." He answers.

She nods, pursing her lips and sizing him up.

"It must be difficult," She starts, wrapping her hands behind her back. Peter's head tilts upward in question, "having been deceived by someone you care about." She notes in a way that makes Peter think she's not talking about Olivia at all.

He nods, feeling the catch in his throat, and swallowing it back down. Nina places a soft hand on his shoulder, giving him a quick awkward pat.

"Is this the right thing?" He asks more to himself than to Nina. The box seems menacing now, frightening almost.

"Sometimes the right decision isn't the easiest." She laments.

"What do I tell her?" He feels his guard slipping, his voice barely registering above a whisper. The unsaid things he's most terrified about pulling to surface and making themselves known.

"I've known Agent Dunham for some time." Nina says, letting out a heavy sigh. "And you know as well as I that she's strong. If anyone can make it through it, it's her. " There's a note of pride in her voice that Peter wishes he could match.

Peter allows himself for the first time in days to smile. It feels foreign on his face, like someone else's.

There's a thunderous crash down the hallway, filling the quiet of the room with bursts of sound. Nina lets out a little gasp of surprise as Peter drops his coffee, feeling it splatter like a mini bomb when it hits the floor, spraying his legs.

There's another crashing noise followed by exclaiming voices, little clips of words that Peter can't make out. He bolts out of the room, eyes wide in shock and surprise, wondering what in the hell was going on.

He sprints down the hallway toward the noise, his heart beating furiously in his chest as his feet thunk on their way to Olivia's room. He's in a full sprint when he makes the short distance there, almost sliding across the floor in his hurry. He scans her room with a hard glance: Walter's face down on the floor, surrounded by overturned lab equipment. A security guard lay crumpled beside him. Fear almost crippling him as he slides on his knees to Walter, turning him over to check the damage.

"Walter!" Peter shouts down at him, tapping the side of his face. Walter's eyes flutter open and Peter feels relief wash over him like a fountain. The guard is already trying to get up beside them. Peter's eyes find the empty bed that should be occupied by Olivia, the clasps of the restraints open.

"What happened?" He grinds angrily at the guard, helping Walter up into a sitting position. Nina rushes into the room behind him, dropping to help pull Walter up. Walter looks at her with a confused smile, sputtering out a gargled "Nina? Is that you?" That makes her rolls her eyes in response.

"She clocked me when I was unhooking her," the man grumbled, rubbing his head, "grabbed my tazer and my gun." The relief Peter felt only seconds ago was replaced with the prickle of panic.

"Which way did she go?" Peter's already up off the ground. He looks to Nina, who's already got her phone out, shouting "Lock down the building." with an air of control.

The guard chucks a thumb to the right and Peter's out the door in a flat run again without looking over his shoulder. He has to be the first to find her. He knows how dangerous Olivia Dunham can be and he knows what she's capable of when she thinks she's in trouble.

He turns the corner in time to see the door slam shut to the stairs. His heart picks up as he throws open the door, scanning the stairs to see if he can see her direction. The door slams the next flight down and he's taking the stairs two at a time to follow her. The door swings open as he barrels through it, arms pumping at his sides.

He turns the corner and is stopped in his tracks.

Olivia stands not fifteen feet away from him, the tazer in one hand, and the gun in the other. He red hair hangs limply down the back of her white hospital scrubs, her bare feet poking out the bottom of the too large pants. She's staring through the window of the room, her arms slack at her sides and her face white.

Peter doesn't dare say anything, slowing his pace to soft languid movements to keep from startling her. He stops breathing, holding up a hand, palm open in surrender. His eyes dance from the gun in her hand to her face. He doesn't bother to shift his focus to where she's looking; he knows what room they're standing outside of.

He's only a few feet away now, he could stroke her cheek he was so close…

"It's me." She whispers aloud, startling Peter. He withdraws his hand, waiting to see what she does next. She turns her head and looks at him, her face sad and confused; her eyebrows knit together almost obscured by the auburn bangs.

"Yeah." He answers back, at a loss to say anything else. He spares a glance in the room: Olivia's off the bed, arms crossed. Her eyes shift between the two. Peter swallows hard.

"How?" she asks and Peter's not sure how to respond. He chances another step in her direction. She tilts her chin at him, looking up at him a foggy stare. There's a flicker of something in her eye that gives Peter a swirl of hope. He doesn't lose focus on the gun that hanging at her side. He could reach out and grab it.

She stares at him for a hard second and Peter clenches his jaw. He can almost see the cogs swirling around in her brain. He stays statue still, afraid he'd break the progress if he twitches. Her face searches his for a moment, her mouth trembling. Peter breaks into a sweat.

"Peter?" She says in a split second of lucidity. Peter sequesters to a smile, a breath rattling out of his chest. He nods, taking another step closer to her. "It's me," he says encouragingly, "it's me." She tries at a smile, turning her head to look at the other Olivia. Peter wants so much to touch her, to give her an encouraging squeeze of the arm, but he's incapable of doing anything other than standing there.

"I'm going to help you." He says in a tone meant for reassurance, but it comes out like a plea. She doesn't look at him, but he continues anyway. "But I need you to give me the gun, Olivia." She does tilt her head at that, visibly shaken. Her face is so white his mind screeches back to the hospital the previous year when he thought she was dead.

Her mouth opens, undecided, as her arm slowly rises, gun outstretched between them. All he has to is grab it.

There's a clang of the metal door hitting the wall behind them behind them. Security caught up with them, two new uniformed men with guns outstretched. One of them yells, "Drop the weapon!"

Peter's head whips around and he outstretches a hand at them. "Back off!" He orders, swinging his attention back to Olivia and his heart drops. All the recognition from before is gone, her face blank and twisted in fury. The gun that he was so close to having his fingers on was now pointed directly at his head.

_Shit. _He thinks as he raises both arms, waiting.

_Shit. _


End file.
